Page 47 of Twin Threats In Austin
“Yeah,” he said without making eye contact for fear she would be able to read him.
Rochelle set herhandbag down and slipped out of her shoulder holster, then fixed it on the back of a chair for easy access. The weight of it normally comforted her but she’d been wearing it for long hours during this case.
Her neck hurt. Her back hurt. Her head hurt.
Being shot at multiple times in a matter of days had a way of jacking up stress levels. Body aches were never far off.
“Can I help with dinner?” she asked.
Camden moved to the fridge, opened it, and stood there for a long moment. “On second thought, there are menus in the drawer.” He motioned toward the top drawer nearest the window.
“Ordering in sounds like a plan,” she said, moving to the drawer and grabbing the ones on top. “What sounds better? Bowls or pizza?”
“Normally, I’d go for something healthier, but pizza sounds damn good to me right now,” he said.
“Excellent choice,” she said. “I hope you like the works.”
“Run it through the garden and then add the meats as far as I’m concerned,” he said.
“This place actually has a meat-and-garden-lovers delight,” she said.
“My favorite.”
“Done,” she said, then grabbed her cell and made the call. He tried to give her a credit card, but she refused to allow him to pay. When it came time to give an address, however, she handed over the phone and let him take the lead. Then she added a salad so they could pretend they were eating healthy.
“Nice touch,” he said with a smile while listening to the salad order.
She winked. Being here with Camden felt like the most natural thing. Rochelle needed to shove the thought down deep. Another time. Another place. Camden was exactly the kind of person she could see herself dating.
Whoa!Dating. This was the first time she’d had a thought about picking up her life and moving on to consider her future since losing her mother.
“What’s next after dinner?” she asked, rubbing her temples.
“We should probably swing by Asher’s trailer to see if he’s home and will answer the door for us,” Camden said.
“I’m tempted to send a uniformed officer instead,” she said, reasoning he might be more inclined to open the door if only to lie. If she was the one standing on the opposite side of the door, he might answer with a shotgun blast before disappearing permanently.
“Understandable, considering the man might be the person who has fired at you twice now,” he admitted.
“True, but my bigger concern is how much time it will take to drive to Asher’s place and back,” she reasoned. “I hate to be away from Austin and from Kage’s house very long. Plus, what if Sabrina calls? What if Asher shows up at her house? We’ll be too far away to make a difference.”
A loud engine pulled up in front of the town house. Rochelle tensed.
“That will be my truck,” Camden said with a smile and a wink.
She exhaled. Since when did every noise make her chest tighten?
Of course, staring at Camden while he winked would send anyone’s pulse racing, but this wasn’t the same thing. This was fear and she had no time for a reaction like that if she wanted to stay in this line of work.
Some fear was good. Fear kept her alive, told her when to panic and when to run. The kind of fear that gripped someone and didn’t let go was the kind that caused mistakes—mistakes that couldn’t happen in a job like hers.
Camden’s town house was unfinished. There were no pictures hanging on the walls. There were no plants. In fact, there was just enough furniture to survive. The open-concept floorplan had the kitchen flowing into the dining area into the living room. There was a stairwell to the right that led to a second story, which would have the bedrooms. The floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room would let in a lot of light being south facing, except that miniblinds were closed. The kitchen had a granite island with bar chairs on one side. There was a rectangle-shaped dining table made of glass with black chairs. In the living room was a black leather sofa, love seat, and console with a flat-screen TV on top. A pair of running shoes were parked next to the front door. The living room had a rug underneath a glass coffee table.
She half expected unpacked boxes to line the walls. It would explain the lack of decorations. A stack of mail sat on one end of the table, and that was about it. The granite island had a laptop in front of one of the bar chairs.
There were enough supplies in the kitchen to make coffee and cook a simple meal based on what she’d seen so far.
“Do you want me to put on a pot of coffee?” she asked. He was old school with an actual Mr. Coffee machine instead of one of the fancier pod-type jobs. She’d been inside some homes that could run a small coffee shop out of the kitchen for how deluxetheir machines were. Or should she say how extravagant their espresso bars were?
